Seven years with Noah Sterling, and I never even got a proposal.

All I received was an invitation to a release party for a new song he had produced.

That day, as the songwriter, I was at the rehearsal, watching the man whose messages I waited for every day perform on stage with his ex-girlfriend.

That song was one I had written for him.

"She needs help with her comeback. I'm just helping out." He stood there, affecting a casual air, a faint smile playing on his lips.

But his eyes couldn't hide a flicker of longing, like a man seeing a ghost from a life he left behind.

As if that weren't enough, he asked me to give up the anniversary song I'd written about our love. "We're not in a rush," he said, patting my shoulder, his tone sincere. "We have plenty of time. I promise I'll make you the most dazzling songwriter. Just help me out this one time. I'm not going anywhere."

He had no idea I’d revised that song over a hundred times, agonizing over every chord. It wasn’t just a song to me—it was the soundtrack to my youth, the dream I’d poured my soul into.

I didn't have the energy to argue. I just stepped aside.

Later, I lay alone in a hospital bed, listening to the rain patter against the windowpane. Time slipped through my fingers as I counted the raindrops, one by one.

Maybe when you spend your life writing music for everyone else, you forget how to write a song for yourself.

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1

My last task for the day was overseeing a recording session with a singer.

"She's here again. Let's hope she can finally make up her mind this time," my colleague Chloe sighed, leaning against the wall.

This particular singer was a nightmare. We’d already revised her arrangement five times, and she’d rejected every single one.

I picked up my tablet and headed inside. When my eyes fell on the man and woman in the recording booth, I froze.

What was he doing here?

Chloe cupped her face in her hands, her eyes sparkling. "Honestly, they look so good together. No wonder she's so picky. If my fiancé looked like that, I'd want every single detail to be flawless."

Our voices carried into the booth, and the pair inside turned.

"Ava...?"

The man's smile vanished, his brow furrowing. For a split second, panic flashed across his face.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, my voice sharp. "You told me you were going to the studio." Rage surged through me, but I forced myself to remain calm, even as my lungs tightened until I could barely breathe.

The woman in the off-the-shoulder top brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears as her voice trembled. "I'm so sorry... This was selfish of me. I shouldn't be here. I'm so sorry to have bothered you."

Noah quickly grabbed her wrist, murmuring a few soothing words before turning to me.

"I just didn't want you to get the wrong idea, so I didn't tell you beforehand. Her name is Scarlett Reed, a friend from college. She needs a killer track for her comeback, but no one else could nail the sound she wanted. She has a very specific style that happens to be my specialty, so I agreed to help out."

I stared coldly at Noah, then glanced at the woman.

I couldn't tell if I believed him.

The singer slowly approached, her designer jeans hugging her long legs like a runway model. She looked cool and detached, a single tear clinging to her long lashes as she lowered her head.

"I'm so, so sorry. I didn't know you two were together. He told me you were very understanding and wouldn't mind... that's the only reason I asked..."

She bowed deeply, her shoulders trembling.

I just watched it all in silence.

Ha.

Generous? Understanding?

What girlfriend would be "understanding" enough to let her own boyfriend accompany another woman to record a song she had written for him?

Under my cold gaze, Noah stepped forward to support Scarlett, who looked as if she might collapse. He turned to me, his tone casual.

"Why are you glaring at her? This isn't her fault. Her comeback is a huge deal, and her previous producers left her high and dry. She was desperate."

He rarely lost his temper in public. What shocked me more was the grief in his eyes and the regret he was trying so hard to hide.

As a moderately well-known songwriter in the industry, I had to keep my professional and personal lives separate. So I stepped aside and watched them adjust the tracks in the recording booth over and over again, turning, making eye contact, smiling.

The recording session only wrapped up after the singer finally gave a nod of approval.

A sharp pain pierced my chest. I quietly sank into a chair, struggling to catch my breath.

Before leaving, Noah looked back and said, "They came here because they trust you. You're the best. Make this single a hit. Something unforgettable."

He left without a backward glance, never noticing how pale my face had become.

Noah and I had been together for seven years.

In those seven years, I had gone from a novice who didn't even know how to record a demo to one of the most sought-after songwriters in the business.

But our relationship?

For seven long years, it had been stuck in the mud, going nowhere.

After my late shift, I dragged my exhausted body home and collapsed onto the sofa.

My phone rang. It was my mom.

"Thanksgiving is coming up. Is Noah coming this year? You two have been together for seven years. Your cousin's child is already starting elementary school! Tell me the truth... is something wrong between you two?"

Here we go again. The same topic, on an endless loop.

I closed my eyes, a lump forming in my throat as I forced out the words. "We're fine. Really, Mom, everything's fine. If anything changes, you'll be the first to know."

Of course, I had thought about it. I had asked, and I had hinted. But his answers were always the same.

"You're overthinking it."

"My career is just taking off. Let's just wait a little longer."

"Marriage is all about timing, isn't it? I already promised you, didn't I? You can trust me."

If I pushed any more, he would become cold and impatient. So we just drifted, year after year. And suddenly, seven years had passed.

My thoughts were a tangled mess, and that suffocating tightness from the studio wrapped around my chest again.

But my mom was still chattering on the phone. "You're about to turn twenty-nine. How can your dad and I not be anxious! We're just worried about you..."

Before she could finish, I suddenly snapped, my voice trembling.

"Worry about this, worry about that! That's all you do! Do you think worrying is going to magically produce a marriage certificate? If you're so desperate to know when he'll marry me, why don't you go ask him? I'm working myself to death every day, I can barely breathe. Can't you all just leave me alone for five minutes?"

I sat there, gasping for air, my chest aching in sharp jolts.

On the other end of the line, there was only silence.

I rubbed my forehead, trying to soften my tone. "Mom, I'm just really tired today. I know what I'm doing. I'll call you back another day."

I hung up and grabbed a few sleeping pills from the table, swallowing them down.

I kept telling myself to stay calm. The doctor said stress would only make it worse.

As I was washing my face, getting ready for bed, I heard the front door open.

Noah walked in, still wearing the casual suit from earlier. "Still up? Didn't I tell you I've been swamped with work lately? You don't have to wait up for me."

He leaned in to kiss me. As he got closer, I smelled the same cloying, sweet perfume I had smelled on Scarlett in the studio.

I turned my head away.

He thought I was being shy and chuckled, reaching to hug me as he always did, his hand sliding suggestively toward my waist.

The moment he touched me, I flinched, sucking in a sharp breath and pulling away.

He froze, his fingers still resting on the spot. "What's this...?" he murmured, a confused frown creasing his brow. "There's something hard here."

I pushed his hand away, a cold sweat breaking out on my back. "Don't... I'm not feeling well tonight."

He hesitated, his brow furrowed, then clicked his tongue in annoyance and headed for the bathroom. I quietly picked up the shirt he'd tossed on the sofa and his jacket from earlier, bringing them both to my nose.

The same fragrance lingered on both garments—faint, but unmistakable.

I sat there, motionless. All the questions I had planned to ask him died on my lips.

Today, I had a follow-up appointment at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center.

Just as I looked up from registering at the front desk, I saw two people who had no business being there.

Scarlett froze, clearly not expecting to run into me. She forced a smile and was about to greet me when a man appeared behind her, panting as he struggled with two large bags.

Of all the people to see in a hospital, it had to be them. And the man struggling with her bags was, of course, my boyfriend of seven years.

I clenched my fingers, trying to keep my voice steady and suppress the emotions churning inside me.

"Fancy seeing you two here."

Noah immediately launched into a string of explanations, but the more he talked, the colder my smile became.

"Couldn't you have answered her questions over the phone? Did you really have to bring her here yourself and run her errands all over the hospital?"

"She wanted to get her vocal cords checked before the release party. She's never been here before and was worried about getting lost. I was just passing by, so I offered to help. What's the big deal? Or are you just uncomfortable seeing me with another woman now? You weren't like this before, Ava," Noah said, his voice laced with frustration.

Before he could finish, Scarlett stepped forward with an apologetic smile.

"Ava, I'm so sorry. I should have come by myself, but Noey is just too kind. He saw I was alone and was afraid I wouldn't be able to figure things out, so he insisted on coming with me. Next time, I'll manage on my own. I won't bother you two again."

Noey?

The nickname was a knife to the gut, sharp and sudden.

Scarlett continued with feigned concern, "Um, sorry to ask, Ava, but what are you here for today?"

She was clearly trying to change the subject.

Noah took the bait, turning to me with a hint of suspicion in his eyes. "Are you here to pick up more diet pills? You haven't started crash dieting again, have you?"

I forced a smile. There was no point in dieting anymore. I was too tired to lie. Seeing his furrowed brow, I decided to just tell him the truth.

"It's a lump in my breast. The doctor wants to do a biopsy."

Scarlett let out a small gasp, feigning understanding. "Oh, I see! But that's actually very common, don't worry too much about it."

Hearing this, Noah's tense frown finally relaxed. He glanced at my medical report, then wrinkled his nose in annoyance. "Is all this really necessary? All these tests for something so minor?"

With that, he turned to leave.

I stood there, watching him walk away, and couldn't help but call after him, "Since you're here, can't you just stay with me for the exam?"

He glanced at his watch, his tone suddenly impatient. "Ava, you didn't tell me you were coming. I really can't stay. I have a meeting at the studio. I'll bring you your favorite honey tarts when I get home tonight."

I opened my mouth, but in the end, said nothing.

I didn't touch a single one of the honey tarts he brought home that night. When he wasn't looking, I threw them straight into the gray trash can in the kitchen.

It wasn't that I didn't like them, but the doctor had given me strict orders. They would trigger hormonal issues and only worsen my condition.

If I kept putting this off, I could be facing surgery by next spring, with no guarantee of survival.

So, I made up my mind. I needed a break. That very day, I started drafting my leave of absence request for the studio.

The next morning, Noah stormed in like a tornado, his face as dark as thunder. "When did you request time off? Why didn't you tell me? This is the worst possible time to take leave. Who's going to handle Scarlett's single now?!"

It was then I realized that Scarlett's single still hadn't been finalized; she was still unsatisfied.

But I was at my limit. My head was buzzing, and I felt utterly drained. I couldn't muster any more energy or pretend to be fine for someone else's sake.

So I told him exactly what the doctor had said.

His expression changed as he listened. His voice softened, and he pulled me into his arms.

"This is my fault. I've been so buried in work, I didn't even notice how exhausted you were. But please, just hang on a little longer. When this is all over, I'll take you to Napa Valley. Just the two of us."

My eyes stung with tears. I remembered all the times I had begged him to come with me to a check-up, only for him to say, "Next time."

I felt like I was suffocating.

Seeing my discomfort, he guided me to the bed, brought a cold, damp towel, and gently placed it on my chest, rubbing it in small circles with his hand, his eyes full of concern.

People are always so quick to forgive when they're at their most vulnerable.

For a moment, I remembered when we first started dating—how he had stood beneath my dorm window with his guitar, promising he was all mine. Warmth spread through me, and I let out a long sigh before nodding.

A genuine smile finally appeared on his face.

For the next three days, he cleared his schedule to eat with me, to go on walks with me. We were almost back to how we were when we first started dating.

But Scarlett still rejected every version of the song.

It wasn't until about a week later that she contacted me, saying the single was finally set.

She sent me an audio file. As I listened, my heart sank, lower and lower.

This... this was "Our Song." The one I'd been secretly writing for our seventh anniversary. From the opening guitar strum to the melodic progression of the chorus, even the vocal harmonies were identical.

My mind went blank. I rushed back to the studio to check my files.

It was then I realized. One day, when I had stepped away to take a shower, I had left my laptop on and unlocked. Noah had been sitting at my desk. He must have opened my personal folder.

He thought it sounded special, so he sent my private work to Scarlett. She fell in love with it instantly and had been hoarding it like a treasure ever since.

I scrambled to explain to my team that it was a personal project, never intended for a client.

Everyone tried to comfort me. "It's your creation, Ava. No one can truly steal that."

But Scarlett, standing in the corner with red-rimmed eyes and a trembling smile, whispered, "So this was Ava's private work... Then I can't take it. But, if it's not too much to ask, could I come and see it performed on the release day? It's just so beautiful."

The look on her face was a perfect mask of jealousy and disappointment.

Noah, who had been lost in thought, suddenly looked up and said in an unusually calm voice, "Ava, why don't you just let her have the song?"

I was stunned, my hands turning to ice.

When I didn't answer, he frowned slightly. "We're not in a rush," he said, his tone dismissive. "You can write another one. It’s just a song. What’s the big deal about doing a client a favor?"

The room fell silent.

I looked up at my colleagues. Some were shocked, some sympathetic, and others looked like they wanted to say something but held their tongues.

That was the last straw.

I quickly looked down, blinking back tears, then looked up at the man who had once told me I was his one and only.

Then, forcing a smile I didn't feel, I said quietly, "Alright."